‘This revolution will be televised’, heavily accented, crackling over the tannoys.
We huddled in corners with our hands over our ears waiting for the blue lights to wash over us.
‘We feed you through the opiate of the masses, get high on your new found freedom’, but we’re all still slaves in one way or another.
The harsh blue glare gets brighter as it meets the rest of the searchlights in the sky. There’s nothing left down here, nothing but human heads with square eyes and static skin.